Putting the Kettle On
by Kuro Guardian
Summary: Watari was not a man who believed in happy endings.


_He was not a man who believed in happy endings._

When only nine his father died eyes a pulsing white in his purple face. Though he recognized that he did in fat love his father, he was honest enough to know he hated him more. So he sat in the corner with the pieces of someone's forgotten radio scattered about him as he father choked to death. It was only after the flies scattered tracking pinpricks of blood over waxy skin that he bothered to tell anyone. Ms. Annabelle shrieked when she read the note.

Four years later on his knees he tended the Father's garden waiting for the three years to pass before he could become a boy soldier. Everyday saw him sore be it from tending the garden or lugging wood, but slowly his form was filling out wiry and taut. Then one day the old bastard offered him tea and when he woke up he felt a terrible flaring from below the belt. Nearly a week later he fed the smug old queer the same soup that sent his father off… with one difference. Afterwards he smashed his hand with the tool shed hammer a rag in his mouth, then he did a bit of knife work to his face. Finally he began to limp as fast he could to the nearest house.

The orphanage they gave him to wasn't anything like he expected, not that it mattered since two years later he signed up with her majesty's forces. Four years saw him putting a gun to his commander's head his pants around his legs. Blinking he see Carl's face as though back at the Wammy's House after another fight with the lords. "Tom, I've spoken with the officers and they've agreed to remand you to my care." It hadn't been much of a choice to say yes and besides his father had taught him well not to believe in happy endings.

…

So it's no hardship to be straining to reach the damn button as Ryuzaki has requested. Not hard to do this one thing for what's his closest approximation to a son. His chest feels like it's caving in and yes his finger is on the small little pill of plastic. He sees the word delete flash across the screen and seizes up with his final breath. He waits for the lights and sounds popular belief has made a religion of he waits and -

He sees the nine-year-old, skinny and underfed in the threadbare castoffs of neighborhood children. He sees the bruises dealt by his father overlaid with those of vindictive children. He sees the child standing on his tiptoes to stir the pot as big brown bottle in one hand. Undiluted peroxide in a clam chowder mix. Can almost smell it, almost hear himself humming that three note song from the county fair as he ignores his busted lip. The boy turns around and pauses as though seeing him, the brat smiles a gap-toothed grin.

Hearing his own pulse slow and stop he expects to see the shinigami staring down at him instead - he writhes the perverted old creep sweating atop him pale, wrinkled ass pumping for all he's worth. Studying the scene seeing the details - dust motes and the calico maps of his thirteen-year-old skin nut brown and peach and clabber pale. Listens to the grunts and the whine of the bed's wooden joints. The sound of wet friction turns his stomach enough so that he almost misses the small confused moan.

Eyes unfocused he looks around for an angel or a chance the lights ambulance siren red. Blinks in what seems were a thousand years endings of his endless moving. Sees the pitiably small bundle of clothes as the child avoids his eyes. The room had been so small damp and pealing the stained walls of plaster. The child had such wary eyes and it didn't smile but he remembered he hadn't smiled much either at that time in his life. Breathes almost because he wants to stay for him - for -

…

The man with the gold watch checks it again. He has the grey eyes of a hawk with the solemn gaze of a striking snake. His hands are gentle as they encircle the teenager's wrist. "It will be a change fro you I'm sure Tom, but believe me when I say its for the best. One day you'll understand I dare say but not today. Ahh, here comes our train." And bound round with a cloud of noise, steam and heat the locomotive rolls into station a heartbeat later. They begin to move when Watari looks back seeing the skinny little boy Clark running toward them, "Please Watari wait!" Somewhere behind Clark a bell rings.


End file.
